


Miscalculation

by mistyzeo



Series: Birthday Ficlets 2014 [4]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Drowning, First Kiss, Hypothermia, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Sharing Body Heat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2840969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For tripleransom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miscalculation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tripleransom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tripleransom/gifts).



It was not the way I imagined our first kiss, but now was not the time to lament unrealised dreams. I held Watson's nose closed, tilted his head back, and blew with all my might into his lungs. Again I blew, and again, and on the forth exhalation I felt him shiver; then he coughed and I rolled him onto his side, whereupon he vomited river water up into my lap with tremendous force.

"Watson" I said, as he grasped at me and choked and gushed again, "don't speak, for God's sake, but nod if you can hear me."

His head moved and his eyelids fluttered, and his hand clutched my soaking thigh. 

"You'll be all right," I assured him, as the constables surrounded us and lifted him from the freezing ground. "I promise, Watson, you'll be all right."

Ten minutes later he had been stripped by the innkeeper's wife and bundled into his bed. I, as his nearest acquaintance, had been treated the same. His body was cold to the core, and he needed mine to generate the heat that would revive him. It was torture, lying there cocooned in blankets with him, exactly where I'd always wanted to be in exactly the wrong situation. Not to mention his icy skin against mine was one of the worst physical sensations I have ever endured.

 

Watson opened his eyes a little after midnight, and I was awake in an instant.

"John," I said, cupping his face and drawing his attention, "it's all right, my dear fellow. Do you remember what happened?"

His voice was raw, like a rake on gravel. "The ice cracked under my foot," he croaked.

"It was my fault," I assured him. "I misjudged our client and I miscalculated the thickness of the ice. I should not have let you pursue him."

"It's not—" he said, and turned his face into the pillows to cough, deep and hard. I held him as he shook, and then he dragged himself back together again. "You cannot have known."

"I'm sorry all the same," I said. "If I had killed you at Christmas, I'd never have forgiven myself."

He smiled weakly. I'd never been so close to him before; our noses were an inch apart. "I'd have haunted you forever," he said. "You just called me John."

"Did I?" Damn it, I had. He was warmer now, his chest brushing mine with every inhalation, and now the sensation of skin on skin was not so unbearable. In fact, it was positively delightful. This was going to go very badly, I thought.

"You saved my life," Watson said. "I think you've earned the right, in some situations, to use my Christian name."

"What about you?" I asked, trying to imagine him calling me _Sherlock._

"I nearly died," said he. "I think I've earned some other privileges."

And with that, he closed the meagre distance between us and kissed me. It quite made up for the one-sided affair on the riverbank, and I amended my assessment of the situation: it wasn't going badly at all.


End file.
